Return of the Prince
by missdarko
Summary: Years after the death of Voldemort, Harry's life is as normal as it will ever be. But a mysterious letter from a man calling himself Severus Snape threatens to tear apart all knows. Is this a cruel trick or is the Half Blood Prince somehow still alive?
1. The Letter

**Disclaimer: Mr HJP and none of his dear friends belong to me :)**

**Summary: Years after the death of Voldemort and Harry's life is as normal as it will ever be. But a mysterious letter from a man calling himself Severus Snape threatens to tear apart all he thought he knew. Is this a cruel trick or is the Half Blood Prince somehow still alive? **

**A/N: I know, I know. I need to finish up the three stories that I already started. **

Not for the first time that week, a tall, blonde man marched into the Auror's department at the Ministry of Magic without warning, wand drawn and smiling maliciously. He walked past the timid secretary and into the Head Auror's corner office, rushing inside without announcing himself.

He blasted the door open and strode inside.

"I've got you cornered now, haven't I?" the man declared from the middle of the floor, his wand held aloft. "There's nothing you can do."

From his desk, Harry Potter looked up from a large stack of parchment and rolled is eyes.

"Not now, Malfoy. There's a man anonymously jinxing Muggles in Surrey, five cases so far and we've yet to catch him."

"Potter, I hardly think that Mundungus Fletcher robbing Muggles using the Body Bind curse is a matter of national security. Come on then, let's get some lunch!"

Draco Malfoy threw himself into a nearby leather armchair and lifted his feet onto a small glass coffee table. He stretched luxuriously, his black work robes pooling around him to reveal his white button down and grey trousers.

"Malfoy, it's barely noon. Don't you have work to do or something?"

"I do not, Potter," he grinned. "I left old Bode on duty, he should be fine."

"Great. Brilliant. Good to know the Department of Mysteries takes its employees so seriously."

"Now that's not fair, Potter. I was at work all night!"

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Now, I hardly think I'd be much of an Unspeakable if I told you."

Harry put down his quill with a sigh, realizing that Malfoy had no intentions of letting up anytime soon. "Early lunch, then? I suppose I can finish this later in the afternoon."

"Wonderful. Let's go into London today, there's this pretty new waitress at the Leaky Cauldron who keeps winking at me and I'd like to show her my –"

"Malfoy! I don't want to know!" Harry said quickly.

"Fine, fine. You know, just because you've been going out with dear Ginevra for so long doesn't mean that I can't have a little fun with _my_ life."

"You can have as much fun as you want. Just try not to be so detailed about it, would you? I'm still recovering from your story about that Mediwitch from Toronto."

"Oh, she was wonderful," Draco smirked. "Just lovely and so _flexible_. Really knew her anatomy, if you know what I mean."

"Malfoy, I repeat, stop or I will –"

But Harry's reply was cut off as his door once again slammed open.

"Malfoy, why are you never in your office?" Hermione Granger asked, stepping in and closing the translucent door behind her. She carried a large stack of parchment under her arm, all pressed with the official Ministry seal.

"Pleasure as always, Granger. Sneaking away for your midmorning _meeting_ with Weasley already? Or will Potter be joining you on this one?"

"You're revolting, Malfoy," she replied, but smiled slightly at the repulsed look on Harry's face.

"Honestly, Hermione, you know all the offices in this department have glass doors, right?"

"Shut up, Harry. I was delivering papers to Kingsley."

"Ah. Anything I should know, then?"

Hermione frowned. "There's a letter for you, actually. Usually, we'd forward it along directly to you but this one was a slight issue..." She trailed off.

Harry, who had been putting on his black peacoat, looked at her curiously. Malfoy also stared, suddenly serious and silent. "What sort of security issue? Was it jinxed? Who's it from?"

"No, it's not jinxed," she said slowly. "And believe me, we checked. No, we're worried about who may have sent it."

"Who sent it?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, I think you should sit down."

Harry gestured to the armchair and pulled out a chair for himself across from her, suddenly feeling rather nervous. They sat, Malfoy leaning against the door.

Hermione lowered her papers onto the floor, laying out a large cream-colored envelope on the coffee table. It had been opened and Harry could see what appeared to be a good deal of Muggle looseleaf stuffed inside.

He picked up the envelope and turned it over. Written on the front, in shaky script was "To Harry Potter, From Severus Snape". _Snape? _

Suddenly, Harry felt very cold. "Hermione, what...who did this?"

"We know, Harry," she said quickly. "We thought it was just a sick joke. But then..."

"What? You think it's real?" Harry could feel his voice getting louder.

"Read it, Harry. Just read the letter. Please. And if you don't want anything to do with it, it'll never be mentioned again."

With shaking hands, Harry pulled out the paper inside. He unfolded the thin looseleaf, squinting to understand the messy writing. Draco quietly slid forward, attempting to read over Harry's shoulder.

_Dear Harry Potter, _

_ My name is Severus Snape (I think) and I am writing to you with a most unusual request. _

_ I have reached out to you because I do not know to whom else I can turn. You see, Mr Potter, I am a man without his memories. To make a long story short, I will tell you that the earliest memory I have extends to January earlier this year, when I woke up in a hospital in Cokeworth, without the faintest idea of who I am. My doctors tell me that I was found in an alleyway, nearly dead and covered in injuries. Since then, I have made excellent progress in regaining my physical health and have found a home and work. The problem is, I still have no memories to speak of. I cannot remember what my real name may be or who I was before I woke up in that hospital._

_ You may be wondering what any of this has to do with you. The truth is, I am not sure if there is anything or if this letter will reach you at all. But here is why I have contacted you: When I was found, I only had two objects with me. One was a wallet with the name "Severus Snape" printed on it. Not much to go on, I know, but I have since then assumed that is my name. The only thing in it was a torn piece of paper and the only thing written on it "lots of love, Lily". _

_ I do not know anyone named Lily. While I was in recovery, no one came forward with information about who I may be. This leads me to you, Mr Potter. The only other piece of information I have about who I am is a small picture that was found with the letter. It is a photograph of a small child holding a small broomstick, with a woman, her face hidden by her hair. On the back of the photograph it says "Harry Potter, Age One. 1981". Given the age of the photograph, I surmise you to be about twenty five years old at this time._

_ This probably sounds insane. I am writing to you without any idea of who you are or even the knowledge that you are the same person that I am looking for. However, I do not have any other leads at this moment._

_ If you think you can help me or have any idea who I am, please do not hesitate to contact me. I have enclosed my address and telephone number. I hope to hear from you._

_Severus Snape _

Gaping, Harry looked up at a nervous-looking Hermione. His heart was beating very quickly.

"Hermione, what – I mean, how...that's impossible, isn't it?"

"We don't know, Harry," she said, wringing her hands. "But it's strange, isn't it?" She hesitated. "'Harry...Harry, I hate to ask, but do you...do you possibly know what letter or photograph he could be talking about?"

"That's the thing, Hermione. I think I do..."

"You're _shitting _me," Draco said loudly. Harry jumped – he'd forgotten he was still in the room.

"I – uh, no I'm not." Harry turned his gaze to Hermione. "Think back to Grimmauld Place. I found the other half of the letter in Sirius's bedroom. My Mum wrote it to him. And I saw half the photo too. But it was just my Dad, the other half was torn away."

"But it's impossible!" Hermione burst out. "This must be a cruel trick or an ambush, someone must have found the wallet or..."

"I didn't say I believe it," Harry said quickly, cutting her off. "I don't. It's just...Hermione, we need to check this out. Whoever this is, they somehow got his wallet and my Mum's letter."

"No," she said sharply. "Let's not jump into this, Harry. Please, we have to think this through."

"We could send someone from the Ministry to find out," Draco ventured.

Harry hesitated. "No, I think I want to go," he said slowly. "Whoever this is, they have my mother's letter. I want it back."

"But it could be trap!" Hermione cut in anxiously. "For the love of Merlin, there's still errant Death Eaters out there! Let the Ministry send someone, please!"

"And whoever it is, we need to deal with it!" He shot back, getting angry. "I am the Ministry now, Hermione. I'm the Head Auror! I'm who they send!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Right," she said quietly. "Right. And this has nothing to do with what happened in London last month?"

Harry turned away, defeated. She referred to a brutal, unexpected attack on Muggles that had taken place a few weeks earlier, right in the middle of a busy day. Several dark wizards, still on the run, ransacked a Muggle shopping mall and left nearly fifty shoppers dead. While the non-magic media blamed it on a gas explosion, the wizarding world was in an uproar. The attack was undoubtedly the work of wizards – there was an unexplained surge of magic in the area as they occurred, leaving all electronics virtually useless.

By the time the Ministry received the warnings that there were high levels of magic being performed in a Muggle area and dispatched security, much of the damage was already done. Harry, to no one's surprise, took it hard.

Most disturbing of all, no one was quite sure who was behind the rampage. Though it was written as an isolated incident in the media, the Head Auror had some very different ideas.

"That's not the point," Harry said.

Hermione stood, crossing her arms. "Fine," she ground out. "But I'm going too."

"And me," Draco said loudly.

"No, no. I'm going alone!" Harry said, annoyed.

"Really?" Hermione scoffed. "We don't even know who this person is and you want to march in, unprepared?"

"He didn't ask for the whole Ministry to show up at his door, Hermione. He just wants to see me. I can handle myself." He added stubbornly.

"It's not procedure –"

"Look, we'll just alarm him! I'm a trained Auror, Hermione! I'll call for backup, if need be!"

"Look," Hermione responded in a strained voice. "Could you please just calm yourself for one moment and we can –"

"_Blimey,_it's been a long day. You want to go for lunch, Harry?" A loud, cheerful voice cut off Hermione mid-sentence. Ron strode into the room and looked around, his smile fading as he noticed the tense, angry look on Harry's face.

"What the hell happened?"

Harry sighed. It looked as though there'd be no time for lunch, after all.


	2. Patience and Pygmy Puffs

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Enjoy :)

**Chapter Two: Patience and Pygmy Puffs **

In his time as a Hogwart's student and later as an Auror at the Ministry of Magic, Harry had seen some truly stupendous magic. It was amazing and frightening, the depth that one would go to in order to survive. Harry had lived through war and battle, had seen the lowest of humanity and the best. But what astounded him was this: there seemed to be no true limitations when it came to magic.

True, he had been taught of discipline and concentration as a student. Of the importance of knowing the rules of magic. But what rules were there when one boasted an internal supply of magic and nothing else, except the will to stay alive? To keep those around them alive.

He remembered: Neville, the frightened boy who grew up to face down an army. Molly Weasley, who had gone largely unnoticed only to triumph over Voldemort's second-in-command. Even the Dark Lord himself – had he not proven that unknown, unthinkable feats of magic can still occur?

Anything was possible. _Anything _was possible. And he himself could handle anything. He knew that now and the thought stilled him and let him keep his composure at the worst of times.

Like, for instance, when Kingsley marched into Harry's office minutes after Ron did and confiscated the letter from a massively irate Harry, talking about a "precursory investigation" while his Head Auror spluttered in indignation.

"I know you want to find out what's going on," Kingsley calmly stated before he strode away, letter in hand. "We all do. We just need to figure out a few things first."

And now, it was three days later and Harry still had no idea what a damned precursory investigation even was.

But he had a pretty good idea of who had alerted Kingsley in the first place.

"I mean, I love her, I always will," he ranted angrily, pacing his office. "But was it really necessary to run to the _Minister of Magic_? It's just like third year again! After all this time, her instinct is still to run to a higher authority!"

"Potter, Granger was just trying to save you the trouble of getting your hopes up," Draco reasonably reminded him, handing Harry a glass of scotch. "Besides, you're meeting with Kinsgley after lunch. I daresay you can bear a few more hours to find out."

Harry knocked back his glass and slumped over in his chair.

"What if he is alive, Malfoy? What then?"

Draco grinned. "Then I guess we have a lot to explain, starting with why Longbottom is probably going to become Headmaster in a few years. And why half the former Ministry administration is in jail."

Harry snorted. "I'd love to see his reaction when he finds we're all, y'know, kinda okay with each other now."

"Yes, I'm sure he'd want to hear my _fascinating explanation_ for why Weasley and I got arrested together trying to break into Weasley's Wizarding Weezes."

"I must say Malfoy, even for you, that was ridiculously stupid."

"Hey, Weasley had left Granger's Christmas gift inside after closing and thought the alarm system would let us in, seeing as how he's part-owner. Obviously, we were wrong. And piss drunk after the office Christmas party. That bit didn't help."

"What, you mean you didn't know that a giant net full of pygmy puffs would drop on you and your screams would wake up half the neighborhood?" Harry chuckled.

"_It isn't funny, _they chewed through my watch! And I wasn't screaming, Potter, it was a manly shout of surprise." Draco settled back in his chair, growing thoughtful. "The Prophet had a field day with that one. 'Friends of Hero Disgraced in Local Robbery'. It's been quite an interesting few years, huh?"

"It has," Harry echoed.

Draco rose, clapping Harry on the back. "Just a few more hours, Potter. Do let me know what happens."

But by the time one pm arrived, Harry's stomach was twisting in knots as he made his way down to the Minster's office. He nodded to the two black-clad wizards guarding the door, to where Kinsgley sat in circular, well-organized office, poring over parchment decrees. He looked up as Harry approached, his formal robes buttoned to the neck, and smiled kindly at his Head Auror.

"Please sit," he said, motioning toward a straight-backed chair facing his desk. "I know you're anxious so I will get straight to the point."

Kinsgley folded his hands in front of him and squared Harry in the eye. "It seems that the letter did not lie. There is a man living in Cokeworth who bears complete physical resemblance to the late Severus Snape."

Harry gaped at him. "A charm, sir? Or perhaps Polyjuice, somehow?"

"Not that we know of. We have done the sweeps. There is no magic being conducted anywhere near him. It is not a glamour nor is it any sort of spell or potion work. If it is, it's too advanced for any of our team to detect. Given their experience with disguise, that is highly unlikely. Whoever this person is, this seems to be his true physical form. Moreover, we have been tracking him for days. He does truly seem to be a Muggle librarian with little to no social contact otherwise."

"So, uh, what will we do?"

"I am not sure how to proceed," Kinsgley admitted. "But the next logical step seems to be to establish contact with him." He paused. "Harry, I think that you should be the one to speak with him. Operating under the assumption that this is truly some incarnation of Snape and not a trap, you seem to be his remaining connection with the wizarding world."

"Basically, you want me to find out if this is for real?"

Kingsley sighed. "Harry, I don't think you understand the bigger picture here. Say that he did somehow survive. He is a man whose entire life was fraught with secrets and lies. We need to ease this transition. Harry, whatever we do, we _must _ensure that this does not escape to the larger public! You and I know him as a hero, but his image with the wizarding world is still shaky and intriguing. We cannot ruin this man's life by exposing him, Snape or not."

"I understand, sir."

"Good. Tomorrow, I have arranged for you and Ms Granger – she will be accompanying you – to pay a personal visit to his home in Cokeworth. Harry, I want you to think very carefully about what you will say to him. I have spoken at length with Granger. We have agreed to find out how much he knows about himself before opening any doors. Carefully monitor his reaction, do not overwhelm him with information." He paused. "I am sorry I do not have clearer instruction for you."

"It's okay, sir. I'm sure Hermione's already preparing herself for any situation," he smiled.

Kingsley nodded, returning a faint smile. "Go, then. I will send further instruction by owl tonight."

Harry pondered Kingsley's words as he left. It was true – though Harry had testified for Snape's true role as Harry's protector and Dumbledore's man, the whole affair was shrouded in mystery. There had been a good deal still kept from public eye, for the safety of those involved. That Snape had killed Dumbledore and aided the Death Eaters in order to protect Harry was still unbelievable to many.

And here, Harry's thought's settled on Sirius. As the familiar pang overtook him, he thought back to one hushed fireside conversation during his fourth year, Harry crouched by the Gryffindor fire and Sirius still on the run, hidden in one decrepit house or the other.

_"Why can't you come forward, Sirius? Dumbledore will vouch for you!"_

_ Face shrouded in flames, Sirius had laughed hollowly. "Because Dumbledore's word isn't law, Harry. And the world does not take kindly to those they consider evil."_

_ "We can get proof. Pettigrew is alive." Harry stubbornly persisted. _

_ "And what then, Harry? All I have is my stories. Who would believe me?"_

He understood now. Words were nothing in the face of fear and war.

Just to survive was hard enough – who would believe the words of a mad man?


	3. The Meeting

**Chapter Three: The Meeting**

Snape grew violets.

It was the first thing Harry noticed, coming up the shabby walkway to a modest house, sitting crookedly by the beach. The shutters were closed, but underneath the windows sat neat rows of the blooming purple and green plant, wilting slightly in the cold.

Next to him was Hermione, standing straight and alert. They were both in Muggle business wear: Harry in a black suit and Hermione in a blue blazer and skirt, her hair neatly braided back. Both had their wands available at a moment's notice.

Three rickety wooden steps led him up the porch and they stood in front of the door, unsure of what to do. Hermione rang the door bell.

They waited for the door to open, the December wind carrying the smell of the ocean, only yards away. His heart pounded in his ears.

"He's home, isn't he?" Harry muttered nervously.

"Yes" Hermione's clipped answer confirmed that she was just as unsettled.

Whether they waited minutes for the door to open or only moments, Harry would never be sure. He wanted to vomit. Or run. Vaguely, a voice in his head registered that he had faced fully grown dragons with less apprehension.

When the door finally creaked open, Harry was not prepared for that he saw.

A man padded out, wearing a grey pajama set. He had black hair and an unkempt shadow of stubble over his jaw.

He was perhaps forty-five or fifty, gray touching his temples and the lines worn deep into his face. He was unsmiling.

There were several moments of stunned silence when no one could form words. Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who spoke. She straightened her shoulders and smiled pleasantly, keeping her eyes on whatever semblance of Snape this man was.

"Severus Snape?" Her tone was neutral, her voice belying any doubt.

If the mysterious doppelganger looked wary as he silently nodded, she did not seem to notice. "My name is Hermione Granger and I am here to discuss a letter than has recently come to my attention. This is my colleague, Harry Potter, to whom you had addressed the letter. "

At the mention of Harry's name, the man's face immediately brightened. "I-you don't say! Are you him?" He spoke with a vigor that Harry couldn't _quite_ recall the many times Snape had berated him during class.

"I am," he acquiesced with a small smile. "Do you remember me?"

The man's unexpected smile drooped. "No," he said quietly. "I was hoping you could..."

"Perhaps we could come?" Hermione cut in. "We have a lot to discuss."

He briefly hesitated before stepping back and opening the door.

Harry gingerly stepped into a narrow, well-lit entrance hall. This was something of surprise. Harry had always imagined Snape's personal quarters at Hogwarts to be akin to the dungeon he taught in – dank, dim, vaguely creepy. But instead, the adjoining living room, though small, appeared to be clean and neatly organized. Windows opened over a squashed looking loveseat and a coffee table. A muggle television sat on a wooden stand.

All somewhat worn-looking but clean.

The perhaps-Snape led them inside and toward the sofa, before settling himself on an armchair.

Awkward silence ensued.

"Shall I make you some tea?"

"That will not be necessary, Mr Snape."

The eager glint showed up in his eyes again. "Please, call me Severus. And I hope that you will be able to provide me with some answers after all. Do you know anything about me?"

Hermione hesitated. "We do, sir. A lot, actually. Perhaps that pot of tea will be good, after all. We have much to tell you."


	4. The First Test

**Interlude: The First Test **

"Nice one, Potter," Sirius laughed, sprawled carelessly on his bed.

"Shove off, Black," James muttered, his cheeks still tinged with pink. He carefully held his soaked robes at arm's length, avoiding looking at the others. "It wasn't my fault. That little twitch from Slytherin put something in my cauldron, I swear. That sleeping potion is kids' stuff, there's no reason for my cauldron to have exploded like that."

"Which one? Snape?"

"Yes, that greasy little git." James threw down his robes in disgust and reached for a clean set from his trunk. "Nevermind, I'll leave it to the house elves."

"He is rather greasy, isn't he?" Sirius said dispassionately. "Needs to learn to properly wash himself."

"I say we teach him him, then," James said glumly, now thinking of the extra credit assignment he had to complete on how to properly follow directions in potions class.

Sirius laughed, raising himself on one elbow. "Should we? I bet I can get my cousin to let us into their common room."

"And do what, Black?"

Sirius grinned, lunging for his trunk and quickly rummaging through it before pulling out a vial of milky white powder. "Bulbadox powder," he explained smugly. "Can make you break out in boils, head to toe. Regulus gave it to me for my birthday."

Remus peeked up from where he sat on the rug, reading. As much as he liked his housemates, they scared him a little sometimes. It was only three weeks into their first year at Hogwarts and they had already gotten into trouble several times for mouthing off in class.

It wasn't that he didn't like them - he did, truly. They were the first friends of his own age he had ever made and they were always generous with him. It did not seem to matter to them that Remus was shy and often quiet, opting to relax with a book while the other Gryffindor boys hung about in loud clusters in the common room, discussing Quidditch teams or the latest Hogsmeade products.

Remus, of course, had never even heard of Hogsmeade before coming to Hogwarts. He tried to keep up with the conversation best he could but his quiet disposition and lack of pop culture knowledge often excluded him from such gatherings.

Still, Sirius and James always made sure to sit with him at mealtimes and often accompanied him to the library in the evenings. Sirius, in particular had been very kind with him - so kind, in fact, that he was always a bit surprised to see the boisterous, mischievous side of Sirius' nature.

He tried to ignore Sirius and James as they gleefully plotted to cover the Snape boy in boils - but he felt a little bit bad. He had spoken to Severus once or twice in the library and he seemed polite enough, if a little distant.

Still, he said nothing. Sirius and James were his friends now and he wanted to keep them. Besides, what could he do? Run to McGonagall? Warn Snape? Neither option was viable, as nothing had happened yet.  
>Besides, it was just a harmless prank. In any case, no real harm was done, right?<p>

Nothing happened until the middle of charms, two days later. They were practicing hovering charms when the air seemed to explode into gray smoke with a loud bang, enveloping most of the classroom.

"Oh dear!" The new Professor Flitwick squeaked. He waved his wand and the fog immediately dissipated, leaving the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins shocked but otherwise unharmed.

Well, mostly.

From the third row, Severus Snape was hunched over, loudly moaning and covering his face with his hands. Next to him, a redheaded girl was hovering worriedly, trying to wrench his hands away from his face. Flitwick approached him and with another loud moan, Severus dropped his hands. The class gasped. Remus' eyes widened in horror and pity.

"Oh dear," Flitwick said again, frowning at the boy. "You'll have to go to the hospital wing."

His face was covered in lurid green boils, extending to his neck and down under his robes. They were popping up on his hands and Flitwick recoiled slightly as he and the redhead helped Severus down the elevated classroom and out the door.

Sirius, seated one row above where Snape had been, shot James a triumphant smile as the trio exited. But James looked preoccupied.

"Isn't that girl in Gryffindor?"

"The ginger? I expect so, yes." Sirius said slightly petulantly. This was not the reaction he had been expecting.

"Then why is she with that oily Slytherin?"

Sirius smirked. "You fancy her, do you?"

"No, no," James tensed up. "I was just wondering is all. It's not proper."

Sirius snorted. "I think my mother agrees with you. Just yesterday she threatened to disinherit me. Again."

"Because you got into Gryffindor?" They had all heard Sirius's horror stories on his strict, unpleasant parents. He seemed to laugh it all off but to Remus it didn't seem quite as funny. Privately, he suspected Sirius felt the same way but would never dream of saying this to him.

"Nah, McGonagall wrote them after I asked her if she's a boy cat or girl cat," the smirk was back on Sirius's face. "Apparently I'm inappropriate and rude."

Even James looked mildly impressed. "Right. Good one, mate."

Sirius snorted and started trying to use his feather to tickle Peter's nose, who protested between loud laughter. By the next day, the incident was largely forgotten by the boys of Gryffindor Tower.

McGonagall, however, did not share their enthusiasm. She said nothing to Sirius or James during the lesson, but did ask Remus to stay behind at the end of the lesson. He exchanged wide eyed looks with his friends, who shuffled out slowly.

"We'll be outside, mate," James murmured.

McGonagall shut the door.  
>"Sit, Lupin," she said, pulling up a chair to her desk.<p>

He did, heart pounding loudly. Was he in trouble? Would they send him home? He imagined the crushed faces of his parents as he arrived on their doorstep, bags in tow.

For a long moment, she stared at him. Finally, she said quietly and not unkindly, "how are you getting along, Remus?"

He gaped at her and her use of his first name. "I'm- I'm fine," he stammered out. "Good."

"Everything going well? Your lessons?"

"Yes, professor."

She crossed her hands on her desk and leaned forward. He could smell pumpkin juice on her breath.

"Remus, I am aware you come from a difficult situation."

He blinked and his heart sped up once more. She knew. She knew and she was going to tell him he's an abomination...

"You haven't had very much contact with other wizard children" she said firmly.

Oh.

"Oh. Yes, professor," he said blankly.

"Remus, what I am trying to tell you here is that you must be very careful with you whom you choose to take into your life. Do you understand?"

He didn't. "I do, professor McGonagall."

And she knew it. Removing her glasses, Mcgonagall squared him in the eyes. "I am talking about your roommates. Sirius Black and James Potter."

"What do you mean?"

"They are very gifted boys, the both of them," she said, slightly stiffly. "And from good families. However, they have a certain propensity for trouble. And I do not want you to involve yourself with are also very gifted, Remus. But you are different from them. I see in you a great desire to learn and many wonderful things in your future. But you will need to stay on track and I am not sure if Potter and Black will be able to help you with that. Surround yourself with those who are tolerant and kind."

He gaped at her. Did she not understand that they were his friends? "Okay," he said hesitantly. "I understand."

She nodded. "I will not ask you if the incident involving Severus Snape yesterday was their doing, though I rather suspect it was. I have no desire to put you in that difficult position and anyway, I think that I've scared you quite enough for one day." She gave him a small smile, which he returned, then moved to open the door for you.

"Have a good evening, Lupin."

His friends were waiting around the corner, demanding answers.

"Did she ask you about Snape?" Peter was actually jumping on the balls of his feet. "Did you tell her?"

"Let him breathe, Pettigrew," James said, pushing Peter aside.

Remus smiled wanly at them. "Yes, she did. And no, of course not."

"Lupin wouldn't sell us out," James said confidently.

Sirius grinned and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Dinner, then. You can tell us all about the Inquisition there."

"I am hungry," Peter injected.

"You're always hungry," Sirius replied. "Don't think I didn't see you sneaking chocolate into bed last night. Nasty habit, it'll rot your teeth right off."

The four made their way to Great Hall, the worries of the day fading.

He had friends, Remus decided. Three wonderful friends. A couple of tricks here and there - well, it didn't make someone a bad person, right? 


	5. The Lost Letter

**The Lost Letter **

The maybe-Snape set down a tray of steaming mugs on his old coffee table with shaking hands. "I must admit, Mr Potter, I had not expected a reply," he said, sinking into an armchair across from his visitors.

Harry nodded, his thoughts unpleasantly muddled. He did not know what he had expected, but it wasn't this.

Next to him, Hermione sat still, her arms crossed in a way that let Harry know her wand was hidden up her sleeve, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

Everyone was quiet for several moments. The doppelganger in question eyed them intently.

"Well, why don't you start by telling us what you remember?" Hermione suggested gently.

He looked a little taken aback. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"Of course, we plan to do just that."

"Can I ask how exactly you know me?"

"We were old students of yours." It was a line that they had agreed on.

"Good Lord, was I a professor?"

"Yes," Hermione smiled. "And you have been missing for several years now. That's why I was wondering if you could tell us where you've been."

Very well," he agreed after a pause. "I will tell you what I know and then you can do the same." He paused. "You are Harry Potter, son of Lily Evans?"

"Yes," Harry assured him. From his pocket, he pulled a fake driver's license, given to him by Kingsley that morning in case this very question came up. It named him Harry Potter, resident of London, 25 years old. Snape scanned it closely before handing it back and nodding at the duo.

"My first memory is of waking up in an alley, last January. I was found by two young men, lying unconscious in an alleyway..."

_His head hurt. That was the first thing he understood. Pain dully pounded through his temples, amassing into a sharp throb in the back of his skull. The second thing he noticed that the darkness clouding his vision was receding, leaving him with a hazy view of color and shape surrounding him._

_He was lying on something hard, the pain now wracking throughout his entire body. A blurry face came into view, leaning close to him. He could smell liquor on the person's breath and his stomach twisted violently. He gritted his teeth as another wave of pain crashed down on him, dark spots clouding his vision._

_"Are you alright, man? Oi!" Someone was shaking his shoulder and he squeezed his eyes shut as everything went black._

_When he awoke again, it was on soft sheets. A bright yellow light was shining in his face and he tried to turn away and found he could barely move. It smelled of antiseptics._

_"He's awake!" someone called distantly and a moment later, someone's face was blocking the yellow light. He did not recognize the man who smiled gently down at him and felt his arm being pierced with a stinging pain. Every bit of him ached._

_"It's alright," the stranger said. "Everything is alright now, Severus."_

_He tried to ask where he was but found that his throat was too dry. "Water," he tried to say but only a squeaky croak emerged from his half-parted lips. Slowly, he felt his head being gently lifted up and a glass of water placed under his lips. A few drops slipped into his parched mouth, slid down his throat. He wanted more but already the slight movement had left him dizzy. He was lowered back onto his pillow._

_"It's alright," the man repeatedly soothingly. "You're safe now. You're in a hospital. My name is Dr Cook."_

_He said nothing but shut his eyes, welcoming the darkness that slipped over him again._

_This time when he awoke, the pain had receded to a dull throbbing and he slowly sat up, reaching for a glass of water left at his bedside. He was alone in a hospital room, an IV slowly dripping into his arm. He drained the glass and fell back weakly onto his pillow. Within moments, a nurse bustled in, startled to see him awake._

_"You're up," she said._

_"Yes," he said, his voice coming out a rough whisper from disuse, his throat aching slightly._

_She called for the doctor and he came in quickly, smiling broadly._

_"I'm glad you're awake, Severus!" Dr Cooke said._

_Who?_

_"Sev..er...us?" he repeated the name slowly._

_"You are Severus Snape, aren't you?"_

_He closed his eyes and with a jolt of panic, realized that he did not know. He did not know his own name. Worse than that – he could remember nothing at all. His memory was blank, wrapped thickly in a darkness that he could not hope to penetrate._

Here, the perhaps-Snape stopped in his story to take a sip of tea.

"And then?" Harry prompted him.

"I was in the hospital for a very long time after that. I found that I was able to retain my knowledge of the English language and all basic motor skills, but I had absolutely no memory of who I was. Worse than that – it looked as though a man named Severus Snape did not exist at all, anywhere in the United Kingdom. No previous records were found. No social security information, no government records or birth certificate recorded anywhere. I was also fairly injured. Two adolescent boys had found me in an alleyway on January first of this year as I was bleeding out among the trash bins. I had several broken ribs, gashes along my back and it looked as though I had smashed my head fairly hard. They called the ambulances. However, the physical injuries healed fairly well. It was the memory thing that was a problem. Since I retained to memories and there were no records to who I was, I was essentially starting from scratch."

"How did that go?" Hermione asked.

"I had assistance. The hospital was able to set me up in a small flat and my psychiatrist helped secure a position as assistant librarian in the city. Before I was discharged, they made sure I was able to take care of myself." He frowned. "There were some strange disparities with my knowledge. I was able to read, write, handle most household tasks, but for some reason, I had problems with the use of any sort of technology."  
>Harry shot Hermione a meaningful glance.<p>

"Like, telephone for instance. I had no idea how to operate a telephone! Isn't that strange? I knew what it was but beyond that, I was completely lost. I knew how to cook, clean, and generally take care of myself but modern technology seemed to be a hole in my knowledge. Televisions as well. Computers, even cars were a mystery to me."

He frowned. "I was lucky though. My boss taught me to use an electronic card catalog and I can get on just as well as anybody now."

Hermione smiled kindly at the man. "I see. Is there anything else you would like to tell us?"

He regarded her intently.

"I had the idea to contact Harry several months ago."

"And how exactly did you mail it, Severus? How did you find out where to send the latter so that it would reach Harry?" Hermione asked.

The man looked confused. "I haven't sent a letter at all, Ms Granger. I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Harry was nonplussed. "The letter," he said. "I got it at the Ministry."

"What Ministry?"

He stared at the maybe-Snape, who now looked suspicious. "You are responding to my ad, right?"

"What ad?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"The one I put in the local paper," he responded, now rising to stand. "I put out an ad in several papers, asking to contact me if they knew who I was or could give me information on people named Harry Potter, son to a Lily Evans. I haven't sent you any letters. How could I possibly know where to reach you?"

"But there must surely be hundreds of Harry Potters in Great Britain," Hermione protested.

"A 25-year old Harry Potter with a relation to a Lily Evans? That rather narrows it down, don't you think?"

A tense silence fell upon the crowd. To Harry's alarm, the man was now edging toward a telephone set and

Harry distinctly felt as though he was considering calling the police. "Wait," he said placatingly. "My name is Harry Potter and Lily Evans was my mother."

"Do you know who I am?" He replied suspiciously.

"Yes, yes," Harry nodded his assent. "Please. Just one last thing. Let me see the photo and the letter."

"How do you know-"

"I just do," Harry said hastily. "Please. We can help you."

"Very well," he said. "But I would prefer if you waited on the porch."

He walked them to his rickety porch and waited until they settled on a couple of old chairs before carefully closing the door behind him.

"Hermione, what the hell?" He hissed as soon as the door closed.

"I don't know" she whispered back. "None of this makes sense. The letter arrived at the ministry and it was addressed to it as well. They called me down when they were sorting through all the post. But I don't think he's lying. He looked really confused."

"Can we get someone to do a fact check on that ad he said he put out?"

"Absolutely. As soon as we get back."

Maybe-Snape bustled out and presented them with two worn bits of paper. Harry took them gingerly, bracing himself against the cold wind. Almost immediately, his eyes watered. It was just as the letter had said – Lily's signature on the torn parchment. He remembered reading the rest of his mother's letter to Sirius in Grimmauld Palace, years ago.

Lots of Love, Lily. His mother's writing.

And the photo – though the charm that made wizarding photos move in their frame had faded long ago, the picture was preserved. Lily Potter, barely 21 years old, half knelt with her arms stretched toward her child, red hair falling over his face. A one-year-old Harry danced just out of reach, holding a small broomstick in his chubby arms. His mouth was open in a happy smile, green eyes bright even in the faded photo.

Harry could almost hear her laughing.

Throat tight, he handed the photo back, fighting a desire to pocket it.

"Now you tell," Maybe-Snape said. "Please. Who am I?"****


End file.
